


Into The Wild (Rewrite)

by Syverne



Series: The Prophecies Begin (Rewrite) [1]
Category: Warriors - Erin Hunter
Genre: Canon Rewrite, Dark Forest (Warriors), Evil!Ravenpaw, Help, Into the Wild Rewrite, Multi, Rewrite, RiverClan (Warriors), ShadowClan (Warriors), Slow To Update, StarClan (Warriors), The Prophecies Begin, The Prophecies Begin Rewrite, ThunderClan (Warriors), WindClan (Warriors), also gay ships are a thing now, also i'm canadian so i spell greystripe with an e and some other weird spelling things, everybody talks about redtail more, firestar/spottedleaf also has actual development even though it doesn't happen, into the wild, plot fixes n stuff, smudge and rusty are actually friends, smudge shows up more than once, the first couple chapters aren't very different but once you get into the real plot it's differenter, tigerclaw/goldenflower has actual development, whitestorm and bluestar adopt a son, yay more description of everybody
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-05-05 19:03:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14625096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syverne/pseuds/Syverne
Summary: DISCONTINUEDA kittypet named Rusty leaves his comfortable Twoleg home for a life in the wild. You probably know this story, but this time everything's a bit different.The rewrite everybody wants (or maybe just me): more evil characters, more involvement of background characters (Ravenpaw, Smudge), plot/spelling/lore/description/exc. fixes, more description of characters, the LGBTQ+ cats everybody wants (though not an abundance of them because it's not realistic), more relationship development (even on non-canon ships like FirexSpotted because it makes things more sad), changes in character death, slight name changes (The elders in arc 1 get to keep their warrior names because everyone in the fandom thinks it's bad to give them names like Halftail and One-eye, Ravenpaw gets a warrior name, really stupid names will be fixed *cough* twigbranch when we get there *cough*), exc.





	1. Prologue

A half-moon glowed on smooth granite boulders, turning them silver. The silence was broken only by the ripple of water from the swift black river and the whisper of trees in the forest beyond. There was a stirring in the shadows, and from all around lithe dark shapes crept stealthily over the rocks. Unsheathed claws glinted in the moonlight. Wary eyes flashed like amber. And then, as if on a silent signal, the creatures leaped at each other, and suddenly the rocks were alive with wrestling, screeching cats.

At the center of the frenzy of fur and claws, a massive dark tabby and a sleek black-and-white tom pinned a dark reddish-brown tom to the ground. The tabby drew up his head triumphantly while the small cat hissed at their opponent. "Oakheart!" the dark one growled. "How dare you hunt in our territory? The Sunningrocks belong to ThunderClan!"

"After tonight, Tigerclaw, this will be just another RiverClan hunting ground!" the thick-furred warrior spat back.

A warning yowl came from the shore, shrill and anxious. "Look out! More RiverClan warriors are coming!"

Tigerclaw and the black cat, his apprentice Ravenpaw, turned towards the river to see sleek wet bodies sliding out of the water below the rocks. The drenched RiverClan warriors bounded silently up the shore and hurtled themselves into battle without even stopping to shake the water from their fur.

The dark tabby glared down at Oakheart. Ravenpaw's white-tipped tail lashed and his jet-black fur began to bristle. "You may swim like otters, but you and your warriors do not belong in this forest!" He drew back his lips and showed his teeth as the cat struggled beneath the weight of the two ThunderClan warriors.

The desperate scream of a ThunderClan she-cat rose above the clamour. A wiry RiverClan tom had pinned the dusky brown tabby flat on her belly. Now he lunged toward her neck with jaws still dripping from the swim across the river.

Tigerclaw heard the cry and let go of Oakheart. "Hold him!" he hissed to his apprentice, who nodded eagerly. With a mighty leap, the dark tabby knocked the enemy warrior away from the she-cat. "Quick, Mousefur, run!" he ordered, before turning on the RiverClan tom who had threatened her. Mousefur scrambled to her paws, wincing from a deep gash in her shoulder, and raced away towards the trees.

Behind her, Oakheart had managed to flip Ravenpaw over, so that the red-brown tom had the advantage. The jet-black tom's chest was exposed, showing a small dash of white fur underneath Oakheart's claws. "I'm not like you ThunderClan cats," the huge cat whispered. "I'll show mercy to a tiny apprentice." With that, he leapt off of Ravenpaw's chest, back into the heat of battle, and left Tigerclaw's apprentice struggling to find a breath.

Across the rocks, Tigerclaw spat with rage as the RiverClan tom sliced open his nose. Blood dripped into his eyes, blinding him for an instant, but he lunged forward regardless and sank his teeth into the hind leg of his enemy. The RiverClan cat squealed and struggled free.

"Tigerclaw!" the yowl came from a warrior with a tail as red as fox fur. "This is useless! There are too many RiverClan warriors!"

"No, Redtail. ThunderClan will never be beaten!" Tigerclaw yowled back, leaping to Redtail's side. He noticed Ravenpaw scrambling over the blood- and water-soaked rocks to join the senior warriors. "This is our territory!" Blood was welling around his broad brown muzzle, and he shook his head impatiently, scattering scarlet drops onto the rocks and Redtail's tortoiseshell pelt. 

"ThunderClan will honour your courage, Tigerclaw, but we cannot afford to lose any more of our warriors," Redtail urged. "Bluestar would never expect her warriors to fight against these impossible odds. We will have another chance to avenge this defeat." He met Tigerclaw's amber-eyed gaze steadily as Ravenpaw nodded, then reared away and sprang onto a boulder at the edge of the trees.

"This is our chance!" The coal-coloured tom whispered excitedly. "We can kill him here and make it look like one of those fish-eating fools did it!"

"Not yet," Tigerclaw warned. "But it'll be soon, Ravenpaw. Mark my words."

"Retreat, ThunderClan! Retreat!" the ThunderClan deputy yowled, his bushy tail lashing quickly from side to side. At once the forest cats squirmed and struggled to get away from their opponents. Spitting and snarling, they backed towards Redtail. For a heartbeat, the RiverClan cats looked confused. Was this battle so easily won? Then Oakheart yowled a jubilant cry. As soon as they heard him, the RiverClan warriors raised their voices and joined in their own deputy in caterwauling their victory.

Redtail looked down at his warriors, Ravenpaw and Tigerclaw among them. With a flick of his tail, he gave the signal and the ThunderClan cats dove down the far side of the Sunningrocks, then disappeared into the trees.

Tigerclaw followed last. He had hissed at his apprentice to stay with Redtail when he had gone past, and now the broad-shouldered tom hesitated at the edge of the forest and glanced back at the bloodstained battlefield. He had almost slipped on the red-coated rocks when Redtail had given the order to retreat, and his pelt was almost the same colour as Redtail's. Tigerclaw's face was grim, and his eyes furious slits. Then he leaped after his Clan into the silent forest.

-+-+-+-+-+-

In a deserted clearing, an old blue-grey she-cat sat alone, staring up at the clear night sky. All around her in the shadows she could hear the breathing and stirrings of sleeping cats as they recovered from their wounds.

A small orange-and-brown tortoiseshell-and-white she-cat emerged from a dark corner, her pawsteps quick and soundless.

The pale cat dipped her head in greeting, and the scar on her shoulders rippled. "How is Mousefur?" she meowed softly.

"Her wounds are deep, Bluestar," answered the soft-furred tortoiseshell, settling herself on the night-cool grass. "But she is young and strong; she will heal quickly."

"And the others?" the concern in the Clan leader's voice was noticeable.

"They will all recover, too." she settled her gold-and-brown striped tail over her white paws, the black tip twitching slightly.

Bluestar sighed. "We are lucky not to have lost any of our warriors this time. You are a gifted medicine cat, Spottedleaf." she tilted her head again, studying the stars, and the moonlight revealed silver hairs around the edges of her muzzle. "I am deeply troubled by tonight's defeat. ThunderClan has not been beaten in its own territory since I became leader," she murmured. "These are difficult times for our Clan. The season of newleaf is late, and there have been fewer kits than ever. ThunderClan needs more warriors if it is to survive."

"But the year is only just beginning," Spottedleaf pointed out calmly. "There will be more kits when greenleaf comes."

The lithe she-cat closed her ice-blue eyes for a moment. "Perhaps. But training our young to become warriors takes time. If ThunderClan is to defend its territory, it must have new warriors as soon as possible."

"Are you asking StarClan for answers?" the mottled she-cat meowed gently, following Bluestar's gaze and staring up at the swath of stars glittering in the dark sky.

"It is at times like this we need the words of ancient warriors to guide us. Has StarClan spoken to you?" she flicked her long tail.

"Not for some moons, Bluestar," Spottedleaf dipped her head, flattening her white-tipped ears against her head.

Suddenly a shooting star blazed over the treetops. The medicine cat's tail twitched and the fur along her spine bristled.

Bluestar's torn ear twitched but she remained silent as Spottedleaf continued to gaze upwards with a vacant look in her warm amber eyes.

After a few moments, she lowered her head and turned to Bluestar. "It was a message from StarClan," she whispered, her pink nose twitching. "Fire alone can save our Clan."

"Fire?" Bluestar echoed. She got to her paws and spoke not just to Spottedleaf but the stars themselves. "But fire is feared by all the Clans! How can it save us?"

The dappled she-cat shook her head. "I do not know," Spottedleaf admitted. "But this is the message StarClan has chosen to share with me."

The ThunderClan leader fixed her clear blue eyes on the medicine cat. "You have never been wrong before, Spottedleaf," she meowed. "If StarClan has spoken, then it must be so. Fire will save our Clan."


	2. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rusty meets Greypaw and invokes the rage of a ThunderClan warrior and his leader.

It was pitch-black. Rusty could sense something was near. The young tom-cat’s eyes opened wide as he scanned the dense undergrowth. This place was unfamiliar, but the strange scents drew the dark ginger tabby onward, deeper into the shadows. His stomach growled, reminding him of his hunger. He opened his jaws slightly to let the warm smells of the forest reach the scent glands on the roof of his mouth. Musty odours of leaf mold mingled with the tempting aroma of a small furry creature.

Suddenly a flash of grey raced past him. Rusty stopped in his tracks, listening. It was hiding in the leaves less than two tail-lengths away. The tabby knew it was a mouse - he could feel the rapid pulsing of a tiny heart deep within his large ears. He swallowed, stifling his rumbling stomach. Soon his hunger would be satisfied.

Slowly he lowered his body into position, his pale orange belly fur just barely brushing the grass as he crouched for the attack. He was downwind of the mouse and he knew it wasn’t aware of him. With one final check on the prey’s position, Rusty pushed back hard on his haunches and sprang, kicking up leaves on the forest floor as he rose.

The mouse dove for cover, heading towards a hole in the ground. But the tom was already on top of it. He scooped it into the air, hooking the helpless creature with his thorn-sharp claws, flinging it up in a high arc onto the leaf-covered ground. The mouse landed dazed, but alive. It tried to run, but Rusty snatched it up again. He tossed the furry creature once more, this time a little farther away. It managed to scramble a few paces before Rusty caught up with it.

Suddenly a noise roared nearby. Rusty looked around, and as he did so, the mouse was able to pull away from his claws. When Rusty turned back he saw it dart into the darkness among the tangled roots of a tree.

Angry, Rusty gave up the hunt. He spun around, his green eyes glaring, intent on searching out the noise that cost him his kill. The sound rattled on, becoming more familiar. Rusty blinked open his eyes.

The forest had disappeared. He was inside a hot and airless kitchen, curled in his bed. Moonlight filtered through the window, casting shadows on the smooth, hard floor. The noise had been the rattle of hard, dried pellets of food as they were tipped into his dish. He’d been dreaming.

Lifting his head, he rested his chin on the side of his bed. His blue collar rubbed uncomfortably around his neck. In his dream he had felt fresh air ruffling the soft fur where the collar usually pinched. Rusty rolled onto his back, savouring the dream for a few more moments. He could still smell the tiny mouse as if it were right next to him. It was the third time since the full moon that he’d had that dream, and every time his prey had escaped his grasp. 

Rusty licked his lips. From his bed he could smell the bland odour of house-cat food. His food. His owners always refilled the dish before they went to bed. The dusty smell chased away the warm scents of his dream. But the hunger rumbled on in his stomach, so Rusty stretched the sleep out of his limbs and padded across the kitchen floor to his dinner. The food felt dry and tasteless on his tongue and he reluctantly swallowed another mouthful. Then he turned away from the food dish and pushed his way out through the cat flap, hoping that the smell of the garden would bring back the feelings from his dream.

Outside, the moon was bright and it was raining lightly. Rusty stalked down the tidy garden, following the starlit gravel path, feeling the stones cold and sharp beneath his paws. He made his dirt beneath a large bush with glossy green leaves and heavy purple flowers. Their sickly sweet scent cloyed the air around him, and he curled his lip to drive the smell out of his nostrils.

Afterwards, Rusty settled down on top of one of the posts in the fence that marked the limits of his garden, tail hanging down limply. It was a favourite spot of his, as he could see right into the neighbouring gardens as well as into the dense green forest on the other side of the garden fence.

The rain had stopped. Behind him, the close-cropped lawn was bathed in moonlight, but beyond his fence the woods were full of shadows. Rusty stretched his head forward to take a sniff of the damp air. His skin was warm and dry beneath his thick coat, but he could feel the weight of the raindrops that sparkled on his ginger fur.

He heard his housefolk giving him one last call from the back door. If he went to them now, they would greet him with gentle words and caresses and welcome him onto their bed, where he would curl, purring, warm in the crook of a bent knee.

But this time Rusty ignored his owners’ voices and turned his gaze back to the forest. The crisp smell of the woods had grown fresher after the rain.

Suddenly the dark orange fur on his spine prickled. Was something moving out there? Was something watching him? Rusty stared ahead with alert emerald-green eyes, but it was impossible to see or scent anything in the dark and tree-scented air. He lifted his chin boldly, stood up, and stretched, one paw gripping each corner of the fencepost as he straightened his legs and arched his back. He closed his eyes and breathed in the smell of the woods once more. It seemed to promise him something, tempting him onward in the whispering shadows. Tensing his muscles, he crouched for a moment. Then he leaped lightly down into the rough grass on the other side of the garden fence. As he landed, the tiny golden bell on his collar rang out through the still night air.

“Where are you off to, Rusty?” meowed a familiar voice from behind him.

The orange tabby looked up. A young black-and-white tom with a narrow face and a red collar was balancing ungracefully on the fence.

“Hello, Smudge,” Rusty replied, flicking his large ears.

“You’re not going to go into the forest, are you?” the fellow house-cat’s amber eyes were huge.

“Just for a look,” he promised, shifting uncomfortably.

“You wouldn’t get me in there. It’s dangerous!” Smudge wrinkled his black nose with distaste. “Henry said he went into the woods once.” the thick-furred tom lifted his head and gestured with his nose over the rows of fences towards the garden where Henry lived.

“That fat old tabby never went into the woods!” Rusty scoffed. “He’s hardly been beyond his own garden since his trip to the vet. All he wants to do is eat and sleep.”

“No, really! He caught a robin there!” Smudge insisted.

“Well, if he did, it was before the vet. Now he  _ complains _ about birds because they disturb his dozing.” he rolled his eyes.

“Well, anyway,” Smudge went on, ignoring the scorn in Rusty’s mew. “Henry told me there are all sorts of dangerous animals out there. Monsters called foxes that could eat a house-cat whole and huge wildcats who eat live rabbits for breakfast and sharpen their claws on old bones!”

“I’m only going for a look around,” Rusty mewed. “I won’t stay long.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” purred Smudge, flicking Rusty’s ears with a white tail-tip. The black fur on his shoulders rippled as Smudge turned and plunged off the fence back down into his own garden.

Rusty sat down in the coarse grass, subconsciously shredding some of it with his claws. He gave his shoulder a nervous lick and wondered how much of Smudge’s gossip was true.

Suddenly the movement of a tiny creature caught his eye. He watched it scuttle under some brambles, reminded of his dream.

Instinct made him once again drop into a low crouch, his fur catching on the rough grass underpaw. With one slow paw after another he drew his body forwards through the undergrowth. Ears pricked, nostrils flared, eyes unblinking, he moved towards the animal. He could see it clearly now, sitting up among the barbed branches, nibbling on a large seed held between its tiny paws. It was a mouse!

Rusty rocked his haunches from side to side, preparing to leap. He held his breath to stop the bell around his neck from ringing and scaring away his prey. Excitement coarsed through him, making his heart pound. This was even better than his dreams! Then a sudden noise of cracking twigs and crunching leaves made him jump. His bell jangled treacherously and the mouse darted away into the thickest tangle of the bramble bush.

The dark tabby stood as still as he could and looked around. He could see the white tip of a red bushy tail trailing through a clump of tall ferns up ahead. He smelled a strong, strange scent, definitely a meat-eater, but neither cat nor dog. Distracted, Rusty forgot about the mouse and watched the red tail curiously. He wanted a better look.

All of the house-cat’s senses strained ahead as he prowled forwards. Then he detected another noise. It came from behind, but sounded muted and distant. He swiveled his ears backwards to hear it better.  _ Pawsteps? _ he wondered, but he kept his eyes fixed on the strange red fur up ahead, and continued to creep onwards. It was only when the faint rustling behind him became a loud and fast-approaching leaf-crackle that Rusty realized he was in danger.

The creature hit him like an explosion and Rusty was thrown sideways into a clump of ferns. Twisting and yowling, he tried to throw off the attacker that had fastened itself to his back. It was gripping him with incredible sharp claws that sent jolts of pain through his limbs. Rusty could feel spiked teeth pricking at his neck and a few droplets of blood sliding down his fur. He writhed and squirmed from whiskers to tail, but he couldn’t free himself. For a second he felt helpless; then he froze. Thinking fast, he flipped himself over onto his back. He knew instinctively how dangerous it was to expose his soft belly, but it was his only chance at this point.

He was lucky - the ploy seemed to work. He heard something crack beneath him as his full body weight was thrown onto his attacker. Thrashing fiercely, Rusty managed to wriggle free, and without looking back he started to run back towards his home.

Behind him, a rush of pawsteps told Rusty that his attacker had only been winded and was giving chase. Even though the pain from his scratches, particularly one at the top of his back, stung beneath his fur, he decided that he’d much rather turn and fight than be jumped on again.

He skidded to a stop, kicking up dirt, spun around, and faced his pursuer.

It was another kitten, with a thick coat of shaggy grey fur, strong legs, and a broad face with eager yellow eyes. In a heartbeat, Rusty smelled that it was a tom, and sensed the power in the sturdy shoulders beneath the soft coat. Then the kitten crashed into him at full pelt. Taken by surprise at Rusty’s turnabout, the dark grey tom fell back in a dazed heap.

The impact knocked the breath out of Rusty, and he staggered. He quickly found his footing and arched his back, puffing out his orange-striped fur, ready to spring onto the other tom. But his attacker simply sat up and began to lick a forepaw, all signs of aggression gone.

Rusty felt strangely disappointed. Every part of him was tense, ready for battle. His dark coat had small red stains forming where the grey cat had clawed and bitten him, and his collar was sticking into his neck again.

“Hi there, kittypet!” meowed the grey tom cheerily. “You put up quite the fight for a tame kitty!”

Rusty remained on tiptoe for a moment, wondering whether to attack anyway. Then he remembered the strength he had felt in this kitten’s paws when he had been pinned to the ground. He dropped onto his pads, loosened his muscles, let his spine unbend, and forced his bristling fur to lay flat. “And I’ll fight you again if I have to,” he growled.

“I’m Greypaw, by the way,” the bushy-tailed kitten went on, ignoring Rusty’s threat. “I’m training to be a ThunderClan warrior.”

Rusty remained silent. He didn’t know what this Greywhatsit was meowing about, but he sensed the threat had passed. He hid his confusion by leaning down to lick his ruffled orange chest.

“What’s a kittypet like you doing out in the woods? Don’t you know it’s dangerous?” asked Greypaw, meeting Rusty’s gaze.

“If  _ you’re _ the most dangerous thing the woods has to offer, I think I can handle it,” Rusty bluffed, keeping eye contact. 

Greypaw looked at him for a moment, narrowing his sharp yellow eyes. “Oh, I’m far from the most dangerous. If I were even half a warrior, I’d give an intruder like you some real wounds to think about. Plus, that fox you were chasing could have torn you apart easily.”

Rusty felt a thrill of fear at these ominous words. What did this cat mean by ‘intruder’? And did that bushy tail really belong to one of the foxes from Henry’s stories?

“Anyway,” meowed Greypaw, using his sharp teeth to tug a clump of grass out from between his claws. “I didn’t think it was worth hurting you. You’re obviously not from one of the other Clans.”

“Other Clans?” Rusty echoed, confused.

The rough-furred cat let out an impatient hiss. “You must have heard of the four warrior Clans that hunt around here! I belong to ThunderClan. The other Clans are always trying to steal prey from our territory,  _ especially _ ShadowClan. They’re so fierce they would have ripped you to shreds, no questions asked.”

Greypaw paused to spit angrily and continued: “They take prey that is rightfully ours. It’s the job of the ThunderClan warriors to keep them out of our territory. When I’ve finished my training, I’ll be so dangerous, I’ll have the other Clans shaking in their flea-bitten skins. They won’t dare come near us then!”

Rusty narrowed his leaf-green eyes. This must be one of the wildcats Smudge had warned him about! Living rough in the woods, hunting their own food, and fighting for every scrap of prey. Yet he didn’t feel scared. In fact, it was hard not to admire this confident kitten. “So you’re not a warrior yet?” he asked, curious.

“Why? Did you think I was?” Greypaw purred proudly; then he shook his wide, furry head. “I won’t be a real warrior for _ages_. I have to go through training first. Kits have to be six moons old before they even _begin_ training. Tonight is my first night out as an apprentice.”  
“Why don’t you find yourself some owners with a nice cosy house instead? Your life would be much easier,” Rusty meowed. “There are plenty of housefolk willing to take in a kitten like you. All you have to do is sit where they can see you and look hungry for a couple of days-”

“And they’d feed me pellets that look like rabbit droppings and soft slop!” Greypaw interrupted. “No way! I can’t think of anything worse than being a  _ kittypet _ ! They’re nothing but Twoleg pets! Eating stuff that doesn’t look like food, making dirt in a box of gravel, sticking their noses outside only when the Twolegs allow them? That’s no life! Out here it’s wild, and it’s free. We come and go as we please.” He finished his speech with a proud spit, then meowed mischievously, “Until you’ve tasted a fresh-killed mouse, you haven’t lived. Have you ever tasted mouse?”

“No,” Rusty admitted, a bit defensive. “Not yet.”

“I guess you’ll never understand,” Greypaw sighed. “You weren’t born wild. It makes a big difference. You need to be born with warrior blood in your veins, or the feel of the wind in your whiskers. Kitties born into Twoleg nests could never feel the same way.” 

Rusty remembered his dream, and the feeling of stalking the mouse before Greypaw had attacked him. “That’s not true!” he mewed indignantly.

Greypaw didn’t reply. He suddenly stiffened mid-lick, one paw still raised, and sniffed the air. “I smell cats from my Clan,” he hissed. “You should go. They won’t be pleased to find you hunting in our territory!”

Rusty looked around, wondering how the apprentice knew any cat was approaching. He couldn’t smell anything different on the leaf-scented breeze. But his fur stood on end at the note of urgency in Greypaw’s voice.

“Quick!” he hissed again. “Run!”

Rusty prepared to spring into the bushes, not knowing which way was safe to jump

He was too late. A voice meowed behind him, firm and menacing. “What’s going on here?”

Rusty turned to see a large blue-grey she-cat strolling purposefully through the undergrowth. She was magnificent, and had an air of importance. Her broad face and head bore the occasional white hair, mostly around her muzzle, and an ugly scar parted the fur across her shoulders, but her smooth grey coat shone like silver in the moonlight.

“Bluestar!” Beside him, Greypaw crouched down and narrowed his eyes. He crouched even lower when a second cat - a handsome golden tabby - followed the tall she-cat into the clearing.

“You shouldn’t be so near Twolegplace, Greypaw!” growled the thick-furred tom, narrowing his light green eyes.

“I know, Lionheart, I’m sorry.” the grey kitten looked down at his paws, looking smaller than ever.

Rusty copied Greypaw and crouched low to the forest floor, ears twitching nervously. These strange cats had an air of strength he had never seen in any of his garden friends. Maybe what Smudge had warned him about was true.

“Who is this?” asked the she-cat.

Rusty flinched as she turned her gaze on him. Her piercing blue eyes made him feel even more vulnerable.

“He’s no threat,” Greypaw mewed quickly. “He’s not a Clan cat, just a Twoleg pet from beyond our territory.”

_ Just a Twoleg pet! _ The words inflamed Rusty, but he held his tongue. The warning look in the long-furred she-cat’s stare told him that she had seen the anger in his eyes, and he looked away.

“This is Bluestar; she’s  _ leader _ of my Clan!” Greypaw hissed to Rusty under his breath. “And Lionheart. He’s my mentor, which means he’s training me to become a warrior.”

“Thank you for the introduction, Greypaw,” meowed Lionheart coolly.

Bluestar was still staring at Rusty. “You fight well for a Twoleg pet,” she meowed.

Rusty and Greypaw exchanged confused glances. How could she know?

“We have been watching you both,” Bluestar went on, as if she had read their thoughts. “We wondered how you would deal with an intruder, Greypaw. You attacked him bravely.”

Greypaw’s chest swelled and he looked delighted at the praise from his leader.

“Sit up now!” Bluestar looked at Rusty. “You too, kittypet.” He sat up immediately and held Bluestar’s gaze evenly as she addressed him.

“You reacted well to the attack, kittypet. Greypaw is stronger than you, but you used your wits to defend yourself. And you turned to face him when he chased you. I’ve not seen a kittypet do that before.”

Rusty managed to nod his thanks, taken aback by such unexpected praise. Her next words surprised him even more.

“I have been wondering how you would perform out here, beyond the Twolegplace. We patrol this border frequently, so I have often seen you sitting on your boundary, staring out into the forest. And now, at last, you have dared to place your paws here.” The lithe she-cat stared at him thoughtfully. “You do seem to have a natural hunting ability. Sharp eyes. You would have caught that mouse if you had not hesitated so long.”

“R-really?” Rusty stammered.

The broad-shouldered tom spoke now. His deep meow was respectful but insistent. “Bluestar, this is a  _ kittypet _ . He should not be hunting in ThunderClan territory. Send him home to his Twolegs!”

Rusty prickled at Lionheart’s dismissive words. “Send me home?” he mewed impatiently. Bluestar’s words had made him glow with pride. She had noticed him; she had been impressed by him. “But I’ve only come here to hunt for a mouse or two. Surely there’s enough to go around.”

Bluestar had turned her head to acknowledge Lionheart’s words. Now her gaze snapped back to Rusty. Her blue eyes were blazing with anger. “There’s never enough to go around!” she spat, tail lashing. “If you didn’t live such a soft, overfed life, you would know that!”

Rusty was confused by Bluestar’s sudden rage, but one glance at the horrified look on Greypaw’s face was enough to tell him that he had spoken too freely. The golden tabby stepped to his leader’s side. Both warriors loomed over him now. Rusty looked into Bluestar’s threatening stare and his pride dissolved. These were not cozy fireside cats he was dealing with - these were mean, hungry cats who were probably going to finish what Greypaw had started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack it's done! It might not seem like much changed in this chapter, but I added a few more notes about the fox Rusty was chasing and changed some things like "Lionheart stepped to his leader's side" to "the golden tabby stepped to his leader's side". I also added a bit more blood & stuff to the fight between Greypaw and Rusty. Compared to the actual book, it's noticeably different.  
> If y'all are lucky you'll get another chapter today, oof


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An offer is made.

“Well?” hissed Bluestar, her face only a mouse-length from Rusty’s. Lionheart remained silent as he towered over the kittypet.

He flattened his large ears and crouched under the golden tabby warrior’s cold stare. His ginger fur prickled uncomfortably. “I am no threat to your Clan,” he mewed, looking down at his trembling paws.

“You threaten our Clan when you take our food,” yowled Bluestar. “You have plenty of food in your Twoleg nest already. You come here only to hunt for sport. But we hunt to survive.”

The truth of the leader’s words pierced Rusty like a thorn, and suddenly he understood her anger. He stopped trembling, sat up, and straightened his ears. “I hadn’t thought of it that way before. I’m sorry,” he mewed solemnly. “I won’t hunt here again.”

Bluestar let her hackles fall and signaled to her warrior to step back. “You are an unusual kittypet, Rusty,” she meowed.

Greypaw’s sigh of relief made Rusty’s ears twitch. He heard the approval in Bluestar’s voice and noticed as she swapped a meaningful glance with Lionheart. The look made him curious. What flashed between the two warriors? Quietly he asked, “Is survival here really so hard?”

“Our territory covers only part of the forest,” answered the blue-grey cat. “We compete with the other Clans, RiverClan, ShadowClan, and WindClan, for what we have. And this year, late newleaf means prey is scarce.”

“Is your Clan very big?” the kittypet meowed, his eyes wide.

“Big enough,” she replied. “Our territory can support us, but there is no prey left over.”

“Are you all warriors, then?” Rusty mewed. Bluestar’s vague answers were just making him more and more curious about ThunderClan.

The almost-maned warrior answered him. “Some are warriors. Some are too young or too old or too busy caring for kits to hunt.”

“And you all live and share prey together?” Rusty murmured in awe, thinking of his own easy, selfish life with a bit of guilt.

Bluestar looked again to her senior warrior. The ragged-furred tabby stared back at her steadily. At last she returned her blue gaze to Rusty and meowed, “Perhaps you should find out these things for yourself. Would you like to join ThunderClan?”

Rusty was so surprised, he couldn’t speak. It felt like his collar was constricting his neck, choking his words.

Bluestar went on: “If you did, you would train with Greypaw to become a Clan warrior.”

“But kittypets can’t be warriors!” the apprentice in question blurted out. “They don’t have warrior blood!”

A sad look clouded Bluestar’s eyes. “Warrior blood,” she echoed with a sigh. “Too much of that has been spilled recently.”

Bluestar fell silent and Lionheart jumped in, meowing, “Bluestar is only offering you training, young kit. There is no guarantee that you would become a full warrior. It might prove too difficult for you. After all, you are used to a comfortable life.”

Rusty was stung by the warrior’s words. He swung his head around to face the ThunderClan cat. “Why offer me the chance, then?”

But it was Bluestar who answered. “You are right to question our motives, young one. The truth is, ThunderClan  _ needs _ more warriors.”

“Understand that Bluestar does not make this offer lightly,” warned Lionheart. “If you wish to train with us, we will take you into our Clan. You must either live with us and respect our code, or return to your Twolegs and never come back. You cannot live with a paw in each world.”

A cool breeze stirred the undergrowth, ruffling Rusty’s thick pelt. He shivered, not from the cold, but from the excitement at the possibilities opening up before him.

“Are you wondering if it’s worth giving up your comfortable kittypet life?” asked Bluestar gently. “But do you realize the price you will pay for your warmth and food?”

Rusty looked at her with confusion. Surely his encounter with these cats proved to him just how easy and luxurious his life was?

“I can tell that you are still a tom,” the tall she-cat added. “Despite the Twoleg stench that clings to your fur.”

“What do you mean,  _ still _ a tom?” his ears pricked up.

“You haven’t yet been taken by your Twolegs to see the Cutter,” Bluestar meowed gravely. “You would be very different then. Not so keen to fight a Clan cat, I suspect.”

Rusty was confused. He suddenly thought of Henry, the old grey tabby, who had become fat and lazy since his visit to the vet. Was that what the Clan leader meant by the Cutter?

“ThunderClan may not be able to offer you such easy food or warmth,” continued Bluestar. “In the season of leaf-bare, nights in the forest can be cruel. The Clan will demand great loyalty and hard work. You will be expected to protect your Clan with your life if necessary, and there are many mouths to feed. But the rewards are great. You will remain a tom. You will be trained in the ways of the wild. You will learn what it is to be a real cat. The strength and the fellowship of your Clan will go with you even when you hunt alone.”

Rusty’s head reeled. Bluestar seemed to be offering him the life he had lived so many times, and so tantalizingly, in his dreams, but could he really live like a wild cat?

Lionheart interrupted his thoughts by padding to the edge of the clearing. “Come, Bluestar, we must not waste any more time here. We must be ready to join the other patrol at moonhigh. Tigerclaw will wonder what has become of us.”

“Wait!” Rusty exclaimed. “Can I think about your offer?”

Bluestar looked at him for a long moment, and then nodded. “Lionheart will be here tomorrow at sunhigh,” she answered. “Give him your answer then.”

She flicked her tail quickly, and in a single movement the three Clan cats disappeared into the undergrowth.

Rusty blinked. The wound on his back was beginning to throb again, but he didn’t care. He stared, excited or uncertain, he didn’t know, up past the ferns that encircled him, through the canopy of leaves, to the stars that glittered in the clear sky. The scent of ThunderClan still hung heavy in the evening air. As Rusty turned and headed for home, he felt a strange sensation inside of him, tugging him back into the depths of the forest. His fur prickled warmly in the light wind, and the rustling leaves seemed to whisper his name into the shadows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 was really short, so it didn't take very long to rewrite it.  
> "His fur prickled deliciously" what???? does???? this???? mean????  
> "His fur prickled warmly" better i guess


	4. Chapter 3

That morning, as Rusty slept off the night’s wanderings, the dream of hunting came again, even more vivid than before. Free of his jangling collar and beneath the gleaming moon, he stalked the timid creature. But this time, he was being watched. Shining from the shadows of the woods he saw dozens of glowing yellow eyes. The Clan cats had entered his dream world.

The ginger tom woke, blinding in the bright sunshine that was streaming across the kitchen floor. His fur felt heavy and thick with warmth. His food dish had been topped up during the night, and his water bowl had been rinsed out and filled with bitter-tasting Twoleg water. Rusty preferred drinking from puddles outside, but when it was hot, or he was very thirsty, he had to admit it was easier to lap up the water indoors. Could he really abandon this comfortable life?

He grudgingly ate, then pushed his way out of the cat flap into the back garden. The day promised to be warm, and the garden was heavy with the smell of early blossoms.

“Hello, Rusty!” called a voice from the fence. It was his neighbour again, Smudge. “You should have been awake an hour ago. The baby sparrows were out stretching their wings!”

“Did you catch any?” asked Rusty.

Smudge yawned and licked his nose. “Couldn’t be bothered. I’d already eaten enough at home. Anyway, why  _ weren’t _ you out earlier? Yesterday you were complaining about Henry sleeping the days away, but today you’re not much better yourself.”

Rusty sat down in the cool earth besides the fence and curled his tail neatly over his front paws. “I was in the woods last night,” he reminded his friend. At once he felt the blood stir in his veins and his fur stiffen.

Smudge looked down at him, wide-eyed once again. “Oh, yeah, I forgot! How was it? Did you catch anything? Or did anything catch you?”

Rusty paused, not sure how to tell his old friend about the encounter with the ThunderClan cats. “I met some wild cats,” he started.

“What?!” Smudge looked and sounded more shocked than Rusty had ever seen. “Did you get into a fight?”

“Sort of,” Rusty shifted to show Smudge the healing scratch on his back. Smudge leapt down from the fence to take a closer look at his pelt. Rusty could feel the energy thrumming through his veins as he recalled the strength and power of the Clan cats.

“Is that your only scratch? What happened?” Smudge prompted him eagerly.

“There were three of them. Even the smallest one was bigger and stronger than any of us.” Rusty’s ears twitched. He wanted to spill out every detail of the night’s encounter, but he knew Smudge wouldn’t understand most of it.

“And you fought all three of them?” Smudge interrupted, amber eyes gleaming and tail twitching.

“No!” Rusty mewed hastily. “Just the youngest one; the other two came later.”

“Why didn’t they shred you to pieces?” Smudge was studying his scratches now, causing Rusty wince a few times when he poked a sore scratch.

“They just wanted me to leave their territory, at first. But then…” Rusty hesitated, unsure of how to tell his lifelong friend about the offer to leave.

“What?” Smudge asked, coming back around to face Rusty.

“They asked me to join their Clan.” Rusty fidgeted awkwardly.

Smudge’s whiskers quivered with doubt.

“They did!” Rusty insisted. “I was as confused as you are. Still am, kind of.”

“Why would they do that?” Smudge cocked his head to the side.

“I-I don’t really know,” Rusty admitted. “They said they needed extra paws in their Clan… or at least that’s what I think they meant.”

“Sounds a bit odd to me,” Smudge mewed, still dubious. “I wouldn’t trust those wild cats if I were you.”

Rusty looked at Smudge. His best friend had once shared the same dream as Rusty, when they were very young kits, but he had lost that dream over time. He was now perfectly content living with his housefolk, and he wouldn’t understand the restlessness and longing that drew him to the woods anymore.

“But I do trust them,” Rusty purred softly. “And I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to join them.”

Smudge put his muzzle a mouse-length away from Rusty’s. “Please don’t go, Rusty!” he mewed in alarm. “I might never see you again.”

Rusty nudged him affectionately with his head. “Don’t worry. My housefolk will get another cat. You’ll get along with them fine. You get along with everyone!”

“But we’ve been best friends since we were tiny kits!” Smudge wailed. “It won’t be the same!”

Rusty twitched his tail, only slightly impatiently. “That’s just the point. If I stay around here ‘til they take me to the Cutter, I won’t be the same either.”

Smudge looked puzzled and concerned. “The Cutter?” he echoed.

“The vet,” Rusty explained. “To be altered, like Henry was.”

Smudge shrugged jet-black shoulders and stared down at his white paws. “But Henry’s all right,” he mumbled. “I mean, I know he’s a bit lazier now, but he’s not unhappy. We could still have fun.”

Rusty felt his heart fill with sadness at the thought of leaving his friend behind. “I’m sorry, Smudge,” he murmured, leaning against his friend for a moment. “I’ll miss you, but I have to go.”

Smudge didn’t reply right away, instead leaning over and gently touching Rusty’s nose with his own. “I-I can understand why you need to leave,” Smudge whispered. “And I can’t stop you, but let’s at least spend one more morning together.”

“Of course, Smudge.”

-+-+-+-+-+-

Rusty found himself enjoying the morning more than he had in moons, visiting his and Smudge’s old haunts, sharing words with cats he had grown up with. Every one of his senses felt charged to the maximum, as if he were about to make a great, death-defying leap. As sunhigh approached, Rusty grew more and more impatient to see whether or not Lionheart was really waiting for him in the forest. The idle buzz of meows from his old friends seemed to fade into the background as all his senses strained towards the woods.

Rusty jumped down from his garden fence for the last time, creeping into the woods as quickly and quietly as he could. He had said his good-byes to Smudge, and managed to stop his old friend from drowning the whole Twolegplace with tears. Now all of his thoughts were focused on the forest and the cats who lived there.

As he approached the spot where he had met the ThunderClan warrior, apprentice, and leader the night before, he sat down and tasted the air. Tall trees shielded the ground from the midday sunshine, making it comfortably cool. Here and there a patch of sunlight shone through a gap in the trees, dappling the forest floor with light. Rusty could smell the same cat-scent as the previous night, but he couldn’t tell whether it was old or new. He lifted his head and sniffed uncertainly.

“You have much to learn,” meowed a deep voice that Rusty recognized. “Even the tiniest Clan kit knows when another cat is nearby.”

Rusty saw a pair of green eyes glinting beneath a thorny bush. Now he recognized the scent: Lionheart.

“Can you tell if I am alone?” asked the golden tabby, stepping into the light.

Hastily, Rusty sniffed again. The scents of Bluestar and Greypaw were still there, he recognized Greypaw especially from the tuft of fur he had found snagged between two of his claws, but they weren’t as strong as when the two cats had stood before him. Hesitantly he answered, “Bluestar and Greypaw aren’t with you this time.”

“That’s right,” meowed Lionheart. “But someone else is.”

Rusty stiffened as an unfamiliar Clan cat padded slowly into the clearing.

“This is Whitestorm,” the golden tom purred. “A senior warrior of ThunderClan.”

The kittypet looked at the snow-white tom and felt his spine tingle with cold fear. Was this a trap? Long-bodied and muscular, Whitestorm stood in front of Rusty and gazed down at him. His snow-white coat was thick and unmarked and his eyes were the colour of sun-baked sand. Rusty flattened his ears warily, and tensed his muscles in preparation for a fight, if there was one.

“Relax, before your fear-scent attracts unwanted attention,” growled Lionheart. “We are here only to take you to our camp.”

Rusty sat very still, hardly daring to breathe, as Whitestorm stretched his nose forwards and gave him a curious sniff.

“Hello, young one,” murmured the white cat. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

The orange tom dipped his head in respectful greeting.

“Come, we can speak more once we are with the rest of ThunderClan,” ordered Lionheart, and without pausing he and the senior warrior leapt away into the undergrowth. Rusty jumped to his paws and bounded after them, treading as quickly as he could.

The two warriors didn’t slow for the orange tabby, and he suspected it would be the same even if he were a Clanborn cat. Before long, Rusty was struggling to keep up with the pair, their pace barely slowing as they lead him over fallen trees that they cleared in a single leap, but left Rusty clambering over awkwardly. They passed by sharply fragrant pine trees, where they had to jump across deep gullies that were churned up by a Twoleg tree-eater. From the safety of his garden fence, Rusty had often heard it roaring and snarling in the distance. One gully was too wide to jump, half-filled with slimy, foul-smelling water. The ThunderClan warriors waded through without hesitating, leaving him stranded on the other side.

Rusty had never put a paw in water before, but he was determined not to show any signs of weakness, so he narrowed his eyes and followed, trying to ignore the uncomfortable wetness that soaked his pale belly fur.

At last Lionheart and Whitestorm paused. Rusty skidded to a halt behind them and stood panting while Lionheart stepped onto a rock that rested on the edge of a small ravine. Whitestorm followed him, but after he had given Rusty a quick and subtle look-over to make sure he was okay.

“We are very close to our camp now,” the pale golden tabby meowed.

Rusty strained to see any signs of life - moving leaves, a glimpse of fur in the bushes below, but his eyes saw nothing except the same undergrowth that covered the rest of the forest floor.

“Use your nose, Rusty. You must be able to scent it,” Whitestorm prompted.

The dark ginger tabby sniffed. The senior warrior was right. The scents here were very different from the cat-scent he was used to in Twolegplace. The air smelled stronger, revealing the presence of many, many cats.

He nodded thoughtfully and announced, “I can smell cats.”

The two warriors exchanged amused looks.

“There will come a time, if you are accepted into ThunderClan, when you will know each cat-scent by name,” meowed Lionheart. “Follow me!” He led the way nimbly down the boulders to the bottom of the ravine, and pushed his way through a thick patch of gorse. Rusty followed, and Whitestorm took up the rear. As his sides scraped against the prickly thorns, he looked down and realized that the grass beneath his paws was flattened into a broad, strong-smelling track.  _ This must be the main entrance into camp! _ he thought.

Beyond the gorse, a clearing opened up. The ground at the center was bare, hard earth, shaped by many generations of pawsteps. This camp had been here for a very long time. The clearing was dappled by sunshine, and the air felt warm and still.

Rusty looked around, his eyes wide. There were cats everywhere, sitting alone or in groups, sharing food or purring quietly as they groomed one another.

“Just after sunhigh, when the day is hottest, there’s a time for sharing tongues,” Lionheart explained.

“Sharing tongues?” Rusty echoed.

“Clan cats always spend time grooming each other and sharing the news of the day,” Whitestorm told him. “We call it sharing tongues. It is a custom that binds the members of the Clan together.”

The cats had obviously smelled Rusty’s foreign scent, for heads began to turn and stare curiously in his direction.

Suddenly shy of meeting any cat’s gaze, Rusty looked around the clearing. It was edged with thick grass, dotted with tree stumps and a fallen tree. A thick curtain of ferns and gorse shielded the camp from the rest of the forest.

“Over there,” meowed Lionheart, flicking his tail towards an impenetrable-looking tangle of brambles, “Is the nursery, where the kits are cared for by the queens.”

Rusty swiveled his ears towards the bushes. He couldn’t see anything through the knot of prickly branches, but he could hear the mewling of several kittens from somewhere inside. As he watched, a pale ginger tabby she-cat squirmed out through a small gap in the front.  _ That must be one of the queens, _ Rusty thought.

Another tabby queen, pale grey with darker flecks, appeared from around the bramble bush.

“Goldenflower and Brindleface,” Whitestorm whispered into one of Rusty’s ears as the two she-cats exchanged a friendly lick between the ears. Brindleface, the grey-flecked tabby, then slipped into the nursery, murmuring to the squealing kits.

“The care of our kits is shared by all of the queens,” meowed Lionheart. “All cats serve the Clan. Loyalty to the Clan is the first law in our warrior code, a lesson you must learn quickly if you wish to stay with us.”

“Here comes Bluestar,” meowed Whitestorm fondly, sniffing the air.

Rusty sniffed the air too, and was pleased that he was able to recognize the scent of the blue-grey she-cat a moment before she appeared from the shadow of a large rock at the head of the clearing.

“He came,” Bluestar purred, addressing the warriors.

“Lionheart was convinced he would not,” Whitestorm replied.

Rusty noticed the tip of Bluestar’s long tail twitch impatiently. “Well, what do you think of him?” she asked.

“He kept up well on the return journey, despite his small size,” Whitestorm admitted, shooting Rusty a fond look. “He certainly seems strong for a kittypet.”

“So it is agreed?” Bluestar looked to Lionheart and Whitestorm.

Both cats nodded, though Rusty noticed Whitestorm a bit more vigorously than Lionheart.

“Then I shall announce his arrival to the Clan.” The lithe she-cat sprung on to the boulder and yowled, “Let all cats old enough to catch their own prey gather here beneath the Highrock for a Clan meeting.”

Her clear call brought all the ThunderClan cats padding towards her, emerging like liquid shadows from the edge of the clearing. Rusty stayed where he was, flanked by Whitestorm’s sleek white pelt and Lionheart’s ragged golden pelt. The other cats settled themselves below the Highrock and looked up expectantly at their leader.

Rusty felt a rush of relief as he spotted Greypaw’s thick grey fur and distinct darker stripe among the cats. Beside him sat an older golden tabby queen, her amber eyes flitting around the clearing. A large dark grey tabby crouched behind them, the black stripes on his fur looking like shadows on a moonlit forest floor.

When the cats were still, Bluestar spoke. “ThunderClan needs more warriors,” she began. “Never before have we had so much battle on our borders, threatening our prey and the wellbeing of our Clan. It has been decided that ThunderClan will take in an outsider to train as a warrior-”

Rusty heard indignant mutterings erupt among the Clan cats, but Bluestar silenced them with a firm yowl. He felt Whitestorm’s tail wrap around his back, as if to settle him or protect him from the shouts. “I have found a cat who is willing to become an apprentice of ThunderClan.”

“ _ Lucky _ to become an apprentice!” caterwauled a loud voice above the ripple of shock that spread through the gathered cats.

Rusty craned his neck and saw a pale brown tabby with black stripes standing up and glaring defiantly at his leader.

Bluestar ignored the tom and addressed all of the Clan. “Lionheart and Whitestorm have met this young cat, and they agree with me that we should train him with the other apprentices.”

The young tabby looked up at Lionheart, then back at the Clan, to find all eyes on him now. His fur prickled and he swallowed nervously. There was dead silence for a moment. Rusty was sure they must be able to hear his heart pounding and smell his fear-scent.

Now a deafening crescendo of caterwauling rose from the crowd.

“Where does he come from?”

“What Clan does he belong to?”   
“What a strange scent he carries! That’s not the scent of any Clan  _ I _ know!”

Then one yowl rose above the rest. “Look at his collar! He’s a kittypet!” it was the lean, pale tabby again. “Once a kittypet, always a kittypet. This Clan needs wild-born warriors to defend it, not another soft mouth to feed!”

Lionheart bent down and hissed into Rusty’s ear, “That tabby is Longtail. He smells your fear. They all do. You must prove to him and the rest of the Clan that your fear won’t hold you back.”

But Rusty couldn’t move. How could he ever prove to these fierce cats that he wasn’t just a kittypet?

The long-tailed tabby continued to jeer at him. “Your collar is a mark of the Twolegs, and that noisy jingling will make you a poor hunter at best. At worst, it will bring the Twolegs into our territory, looking for the poor lost kittypet who fills the woods with his pitiful tinkling.”

All the cats howled in agreement, except for Lionheart, Whitestorm, and Bluestar. Lionheart looked fiercely calm, Bluestar was watching sadly, and Whitestorm was looking a bit like he wanted to claw that look off of Longtail’s face.

Longtail went on, well aware that he had the support of his audience. “The noise of that treacherous bell will alert our enemies, even if your Twoleg  _ stench _ doesn’t!”

Lionheart hissed into Rusty’s ear once more: “Do you back down from a challenge?”

“Good luck, young one,” Whitestorm whispered into the other ear.

Rusty still didn’t move. Encouraged by Whitestorm, he was trying to pinpoint the caterwauling tabby’s position. There he was, just behind a dusky brown warrior. The dark orange tabby flattened his ears, narrowed his eyes, and, hissing, leaped through the startled cats to fling himself onto his tormentor.

The warrior was completely unprepared for Rusty’s attack. He staggered sideways, losing his footing on the hard-baked earth. Filled with rage and desperate to prove himself, Rusty dug his claws in deep to the tabby cat’s fur. He could taste Longtail’s blood as he sank his teeth into the lean tom’s shoulder. No subtle rituals of boxing and swiping preceded this fight. The two cats, warrior and possible apprentice, were locked in a screaming, writhing tussle that flipped and somersaulted around the clearing at the heart of ThunderClan’s camp. The other cats had to spring out of the way to avoid the screeching whirlwind of brown and orange fur.

As Rusty scratched and struggled, he was suddenly aware that he felt no fear, only exhilaration. Through the roaring of blood in his ears and Longtail’s screeching, he could hear the cats around them wailing with excitement.

Rusty’s claws found one of Longtail’s ears, and he tore down as hard as he could, earning a particularly loud cry from his opponent. In the tabby’s pained flailing, a claw slashed a gash over the ginger tom’s eye, dripping blood down into his vision. Both cats were almost blinded now, and the only thing Rusty could do was keep his claws in Longtail’s fur and hold on.

Then he felt his collar tighten around his neck. Longtail had gripped it between his teeth and was tugging, and tugging hard. Rusty felt a terrible pressure on his throat. His breathing slowed to almost nothing, and he started to panic at the lack of air. He writhed and twisted, but each movement only made it worse. He could feel the tabby warrior’s teeth against his throat as he retched and gulped for air. Rusty summoned all the strength he had and tried to pull away from Longtail’s grip. And suddenly, with a loud  _ snap _ , he was free.

Longtail tumbled away from him. Rusty scrambled to his paws and looked around. The pale tabby was crouching three tail-lengths away. And, dangling from Longtail’s mouth, Rusty saw his blue collar, covered in dirt, mangled, and broken.

At once, Bluestar leapt down from the Highrock, silencing the noisy crowd with a thunderous caterwaul. Rusty and Longtail remained where they were, gasping for breath. Clumps of fur, both theirs and their opponent’s, hung from their ruffled fur. Rusty could feel the cut that was still dripping blood into his eye stinging ferociously. Longtail’s left ear was badly torn, and blood cascaded down his lean shoulders onto the dusty ground. They stared at each other, their hostility not yet spent.

Bluestar stepped forwards and took the snapped collar from Longtail. She placed it on the ground at their paws and meowed, “The newcomer has lost his Twoleg collar in a battle for his honour. StarClan has spoken its approval - this cat has been released from the hold of his Twoleg owners, and is free to join ThunderClan as an apprentice.”

Rusty looked at Bluestar and solemnly nodded his acceptance. He stood up and stepped forwards into a shaft of sunshine, welcoming the warmth on his sore muscles. The pool of light blazed bright on his orange tabby pelt, making his fur glow. Rusty lifted his head proudly and looked at the cats that surrounded him. This time no cat argued or jeered. He had shown himself to be a worth opponent in battle.

Bluestar approached Rusty and placed the shredded collar before him. She touched his ear gently with her nose. “You look like a brand of fire in this sunlight,” she murmured. Her ice-blue eyes flashed briefly, as if the words had a much deeper meaning for her than Rusty knew. “You have fought well.” Then she turned to the Clan and announced, “From this day onwards, until he has earned his warrior name, this apprentice will be called Firepaw, in honour of his flame-coloured coat.”

She stepped back and, along with the other ThunderClan cats, waited silently for his next move. Without hesitating, the apprentice turned and kicked dust and grass over his collar as though burying his dirt.

Longtail growled and limped out of the clearing towards a fern-shaded corner. The cats split into groups, murmuring to each other excitedly.

“Hey, Firepaw!”

The dark orange tom heard Greypaw’s friendly voice behind him.  _ Firepaw! _ A thrill of pride surged through him at the sound of his new name. He turned to greet the grey apprentice with a welcoming sniff.

“Great fight, Firepaw!” mewed Greypaw. “Especially for a k- _ former _ kittypet! Longtail is a warrior, even though he only finished his training two moons ago. That scar you left on his ear won’t let him forget you in a hurry. You’ve spoiled his good looks, that’s for sure.”

“Thanks, Greypaw,” Firepaw replied. “He put up quite a fight, though!” He licked his front paw and began to wipe clean the deep scratch that stung above his eye. As he washed he heard his new name again, echoing among the meows of the cats.

“Firepaw!”   
“Hey, Firepaw!”

“Welcome, young Firepaw!”

Firepaw closed his eyes for a moment and let the voices wash over him.

“Good name, too!” Greypaw mewed approvingly, jolting him awake.

Firepaw looked around, his emerald-coloured eyes searching the clearing. “Where did Longtail creep off to?”

“I think he was heading toward Spottedleaf’s den.” Greypaw tipped his head toward the fern-enclosed corner Longtail had disappeared into. “She’s our medicine cat. Not bad-looking either. Younger and prettier than most-”

A loud yowl next to the two cats stopped Greypaw midspeech. They both turned, and Firepaw recognized the powerful dark grey tabby who had sat behind his friend earlier.

“Darkstripe,” mewed Greypaw, dipping his head respectfully.

The sleek tom looked at Firepaw for a moment. “Lucky your collar snapped when it did. Longtail is a young warrior, but I can’t imagine him being beaten by a  _ kittypet! _ ” He spat the word  _ kittypet _ scornfully, then turned and stalked off.

“Now Darkstripe,” Greypaw hissed to Firepaw under his breath, “is neither young, nor pretty…”

Firepaw was about to agree with his new friend when he was interrupted by a warning yowl from an old grey tom sitting at the edge of the clearing.

“Smallear smells trouble!” Greypaw mewed, immediately alert.

Firepaw barely had time to look around before a young cat crashed through the bushes and into camp. He was skinny and, apart from the white tip of his long, thin tail and a white dash on his chest, jet-black from head to toe.

Greypaw gasped. “That’s Ravenpaw! Why is he alone? Where’s Tigerclaw?”

Firepaw looked at the small tom staggering across the clearing. He was panting heavily and his tail was twitching. His coat was ruffled and dusty, and his eyes were blazing with adrenaline.

“Who are Ravenpaw and Tigerclaw?” Firepaw whispered to his friend as several other cats raced past them to meet the new arrival.

“Ravenpaw’s an apprentice. Tigerclaw’s his mentor,” Greypaw explained quickly. “Ravenpaw went out with Tigerclaw and Redtail at sunrise on a mission against RiverClan, the lucky furball!”

“Redtail?” FIrepaw echoed, thoroughly confused by all these unfamiliar names.

“Bluestar’s deputy,” hissed Greypaw. “But why in StarClan’s name has Ravenpaw come back alone?” he added to himself. He lifted his head to listen as Bluestar stepped fowards.

“Ravenpaw?” the pale she-cat spoke calmly, but worry clouded her ice-blue eyes. The other cats drew back, curling their lips anxiously.

“What has happened?” Bluestar leapt onto the Highrock and looked down at the trembling apprentice. “Speak, Ravenpaw!”

Ravenpaw was still struggling to breathe, and his sides heaved fitfully while the ground around him turned red with blood, but still he managed scramble up onto the Highrock and stand beside Bluestar. He turned to the crowd of eager faces that surrounded him, and summoned enough breath to declare, “Redtail is dead!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally an update! Updates will be slow with this fic, maybe once every two weeks or so, because the chapters take a lot longer than a normal fic and I'm working on First Light at the same time.  
> What's your opinion on Smudge? Would you like to see him become a Clan cat at some point?


	5. Chapter 4

Shocked yowls rose from the ThunderClan cats and echoed throughout the ravine.

Ravenpaw staggered slightly, blood flowing from a deep gash in his shoulder onto his right foreleg and down to the rock underneath his paws. “We met five RiverClan warriors beside the stream, not far from Sunningrocks,” he went on, voice quivering. “Oakheart was among them.”

“Oakheart!” Greypaw gasped beside Firepaw. “He’s the deputy of RiverClan, and one of the greatest warriors in the forest! Lucky Ravenpaw! I wish it had been me, I’d have really-” the small grey tom was silenced by a fierce glance from Smallear, the old tom who had first sensed Ravenpaw’s return.

Firepaw turned his attention back to the jet-black apprentice standing on the Highrock.

“Redtail warned Oakheart to keep his hunting parties out of ThunderClan territory. He said the next RiverClan warrior to be caught on our territory would be shredded, but Oakheart wouldn’t back down. He said his Clan had to be fed, whatever we threatened.” Ravenpaw paused to gasp for breath. His wound was still bleeding heavily, and he stood awkwardly to keep the weight off his shoulder.

“That’s when the RiverClan cats attacked. It… it was hard to see what was happening. The fighting was vicious. I saw Oakheart had Redtail pinned to the ground, but then Redtail…” Suddenly Ravenpaw’s eyes rolled up into his head and he lurched sideways. Half scrambling, half falling, he slipped off the Highrock and collapsed on the ground below.

A cat that Firepaw recognized as Goldenflower bounded toward him and crouched at his side. She licked his cheek briefly and called out, “Spottedleaf!”

Out of the fern-shaded corner trotted the beautiful tortoiseshell Firepaw had noticed sitting behind the rest of the cats. She hurried over to Ravenpaw, gold-and-brown-striped tail swishing behind her, and mewed for Goldenflower to stand back. Then she rolled the apprentice over so that she could see his wound better. She glanced up and mewed, “It’s all right, Goldenflower, his wounds aren’t fatal. But I’ll need to fetch some cobwebs to stop the bleeding.” As the mottled orange-and-brown she-cat sprinted into her den, the hushed silence in the clearing was broken by a mournful howl. All eyes turned to the direction it had come from.

A massive dark brown tabby with a battle-scarred pelt staggered through the gorse tunnel. Between his shining white teeth the warrior held not prey, but the lifeless body of a dark tortoiseshell tom. He dragged the small, tattered creature into the centre of the clearing.

Firepaw craned his neck and glimpsed a flash of a bushy ginger tail hanging limply in the dust.

Shock rippled through the Clan like a chill breeze. Beside Firepaw, Greypaw dropped into a crouch as grief swept over him. “Redtail!”

“How did this happen, Tigerclaw?” Bluestar demanded from her position on the Highrock.

Tigerclaw let the scruff of Redtail’s neck fall from his mouth. He looked steadily back at Bluestar. “He died with honour, struck down by Oakheart. I couldn’t save him, but I managed to take Oakheart’s life while he was still gloating over his victory.” Tigerclaw’s voice was strong and deep, echoing around the clearing. “Redtail’s death was not in vain, for I doubt we’ll see RiverClan hunters in our territory again.”

Firepaw glanced at Greypaw. The dark grey apprentice’s eyes were dark with sadness.

After a moment’s pause, several of the gathered cats moved forward to lick the dappled tom’s bedraggled fur. As they groomed, some whispered hushed phrases to the dead warrior.

Firepaw whispered into Greypaw’s ear, “What are they doing?”

Greypaw didn’t take his eyes off of Redtail’s unmoving form as he replied. “His spirit may have left to join StarClan, but the Clan will share tongues with Redtail one last time.”

“StarClan?” Firepaw echoed.

“It’s the Clan of our warrior ancestors that watches over all Clan cats. You can see them in Silverpelt.” Greypaw’s bushy tail swished.

Firepaw looked confused, so Greypaw went on. “Silverpelt is that thick band of stars you see every night stretching across the sky. Each star is a StarClan warrior. Redtail will be among them tonight.”

Firepaw nodded, and Greypaw stepped forward to share tongues with the dead deputy. 

Bluestar had remained silent while the first cats came to pay respects to Redtail. Now she leapt down from the Highrock, muscles rippling beneath her pale blue-grey fur as she walked slowly towards her deputy’s body. The other cats retreated and watched as their leader crouched down to share tongues with her old comrade one last time.

When she had finished she raised her head and spoke. Her voice was low and thick with grief, and the Clan listened in silence. “Redtail was a brave warrior, and his loyalty to ThunderClan could never be doubted. I always relied on his judgement, for it bore witness to the needs of the Clan, and was never swayed by self-interest or pride. He would have made a fine leader.”

Then she lowered herself onto her belly, her head bowed and her paws stretched neatly before her, and silently grieved for her lost friend. Several other cats came and lay down beside her, their bowed heads and hunched backs echoing her mournful pose..

Firepaw inclined his head as a gesture of respect towards the dead warrior. He had not known Redtail, but he couldn’t help feeling moved as he witnessed the Clan mourn.

Greypaw came and stood beside him again. “Dustpaw will be really sad,” he remarked.

“Dustpaw?”

“Ravenpaw’s brother - Redtail’s apprentice. That brown-striped tabby over there. I wonder who his new mentor will be?”

Firepaw glanced over at the small tom who lay near Redtail’s body, staring with unseeing eyes. Firepaw looked past him to the Clan leader. “How long will Bluestar sit with him?” he asked.

“Probably the whole night,” replied Greypaw. “Redtail was her deputy for many, many moons. She won’t let him go too quickly. Not as big or powerful as Tigerclaw or Lionheart, but quick as a rabbit and clever as a fox.”

Firepaw looked at Tigerclaw, admiring the strength that swelled in his powerful muscles and broad chest. His massive body showed signs of a warrior life. One of his ears was split into a deep ‘V’ shape, and a thick scar sliced across the bridge of his nose.

Suddenly the thick-set tabby stood up and stalked over to his apprentice. Spottedleaf was crouching beside Ravenpaw, using her teeth and front paws to tenderly press wads of cobweb onto his shoulder wound.

Firepaw leaned towards Greypaw and asked, “What’s Spottedleaf doing?”

“Stopping the bleeding,” Greypaw replied. “It looked like a nasty cut, and Ravenpaw seemed pretty shaken up. He’s always been a little jumpy, less so since he got Tigerclaw as a mentor, but still… I’ve never seen him this bad before, though. Let’s go and see if he’s woken up yet.”

They made their way through the grieving cats towards the spot where their fellow apprentice lay and settled themselves a respectful distance away to wait until Tigerclaw had finished speaking.

“So, Spottedleaf,” Tigerclaw addressed the tortoiseshell with a confident meow. “How is he? Do you think you can save him? I’ve spent a lot of time training him up, and I don’t want my efforts to be wasted after the first battle.”

The soft-furred medicine cat didn’t look up from her patient as she replied, “Yes, a pity if, after all your valuable training, he died in his first fight, eh?” Firepaw could hear a teasing purr in her soft mew.

“Will he live?” Tigerclaw demanded.

“Of course. He just needs to rest.” she fixed him with warm amber eyes.

Tigerclaw snorted and looked down at the motionless black shape. He jabbed Ravenpaw with one of his front claws. “Come on then! Get up!”

Ravenpaw didn’t move.

“Look at the length of that claw!” Firepaw hissed.

“Too right!” replied Greypaw was a serious glance. “I know  _ I _ wouldn’t want to get into a fight with him!”

“Not so fast, Tigerclaw!” Spottedleaf placed her paw over the dark tabby’s sharp claw and gently moved it away. “This apprentice needs to keep as still as possible until the cut has healed. We don’t want him reopening his wound by jumping about trying to please you. Leave him alone.”

Firepaw found himself holding his breath as he waited for Tigerclaw’s reaction. He guessed that very few cats dared to give orders to the bristling warrior like that. The big tabby stiffened, and seemed about to bark a reply when Spottedleaf mewed teasingly, “Even  _ you _ know better than to argue with a medicine cat, Tigerclaw.”

Tigerclaw’s piercing amber eyes flashed at the small tortoiseshell’s words. “I wouldn’t dare argue with  _ you _ , dear Spottedleaf,” he purred. He turned to leave and caught sight of Greypaw and Firepaw. “Who’s this?” he asked Greypaw, towering above them.

“He’s the new apprentice,” Greypaw mewed.

“He smells like a kittypet!” snorted the tabby warrior.

“I  _ was _ a house cat,” Firepaw meowed boldly. “But I am going to train as a warrior.”

Tigerclaw looked at him with sudden interest. “Ah, yes. Now I remember. Bluestar mentioned that she had stumbled across some stray kittypet. So she’s actually going to try you out, is she?”

The flame-coloured apprentice sat up as straight as he could, anxious to impress the distinguished ThunderClan warrior. “That’s right,” he mewed respectfully.

Tigerclaw eyed him thoughtfully. “Then I shall watch your progress with interest.”

Firepaw puffed his chest out proudly as the dark warrior stalked away. “Do you think he likes me?”   
“I don’t think Tigerclaw likes  _ any _ apprentices!” whispered Greypaw.

Firepaw pawed the still-stinging cut above his eye and opened his mouth to reply, but as he did so Ravenpaw stirred and twitched his ears, his big green eyes darting around the clearing. “Is Tigerclaw here?” he mumbled.

“Tigerclaw?” replied Greypaw, trotting towards him. “Nope, he’s gone. Why?”

“Hi there,” Firepaw began, about to introduce himself.

“Go away, both of you!” the dark tortoiseshell protested. “How am I meant to help this cat with all these interruptions?” She impatiently flicked her black-tipped tail at the two apprentices and pushed her way between them and her patient.

Firepaw realized she was serious, despite the lively glimmer in her warm amber eyes.

“Come on then, Firepaw,” mewed Greypaw. “I’ll show you around camp. See you later, Ravenpaw.”

The two cats left the medicine cat and her patient and walked across the clearing.

Greypaw looked thoughtful. He was clearly taking his duties as a guide very seriously. “You know the Highrock already,” he began, flicking his bushy tail towards the big, smooth rock. “Bluestar always addresses the Clan from there. Her den is down there.” He lifted his nose towards a hollow in the side of the Highrock. “Her den was carved out many moons ago by an ancient stream.” Hanging lichen draped over the entrance, sheltering the leader’s nest from wind, rain, and prying eyes. “It’s not there anymore, of course.”

Firepaw rolled his eyes. “Thanks,  _ obvious _ paw.”

Greypaw grinned. “The warriors sleep over here.”

Firepaw followed the grey tom to a large bush a few tail-lengths away from the Highrock. He glanced over his shoulder and noticed that there was a clear view from where he was standing to the gorse tunnel into camp. The branches of the bush hung low, but the apprentice could see a sheltered space inside where the warriors had their nests.

“The senior warriors sleep near the centre, where it’s warmest,” Greypaw explained. “They usually share their fresh-kill with each other over near that clump of nettles. The younger warriors eat nearby. Sometimes they’re invited to eat with the senior warriors, which is a huge honour.”

“What about the other Clan cats?” Firepaw asked, fascinated but feeling rather overwhelmed by all the traditions and rituals of Clan life.

“Well, the queens share the warriors’ den when they work as warriors, but when they’re expecting kits, or nursing them, they stay in the nursery. The elders have their own place on the other side of the clearing. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Firepaw trotted after Greypaw, across the clearing, and past the shadowy corner where Spottedleaf’s den lay. They stopped beside a fallen tree that sheltered a patch of lush grass. Crouched among the soft greenery were four elderly cats tucking into a plump rabbit.

“Dustpaw and Sandpaw would have brought them that,” whispered Greypaw. “One of the apprentice duties is catching fresh-kill for the elders.”

“Sandpaw?” Firepaw asked. He didn’t recognize the name.   
“You haven’t met her yet. She’s Redtail’s daughter.” Firepaw thought back to the clearing, and a sandy ginger she-cat he had seen leaning over the dead deputy’s body - a cat about the size of himself.

“Hello, youngsters,” one of the elders, a grey tom with amber eyes, greeted them.

“Hello, Smallear,” mewed Greypaw, nodding respectfully.

“This must be our new apprentice. Firepaw, isn’t it?” meowed a second tom. His patchy fur was dark brown, and there was only a stump where his tail should have been. 

“That’s right,” Firepaw replied, copying Greypaw’s polite nod.

“I’m Sparrowpelt,” purred the brown tabby. “Welcome to the Clan.”

“Have you two eaten?” meowed Smallear.

The two apprentices shook their heads.

“Well, there’s enough here. Dustpaw and Sandpaw are turning into fine hunters. Would you mind if these youngsters shared a mouse, White-eye?” 

The pale grey she-cat who lay beside him shook her head. Firepaw noticed one of her eyes was clouded and sightless.

“What about you, Dappletail?”

The other elder, a tortoiseshell she-cat with a grey muzzle, meowed in a voice cracked with age, “Of course not.”

“Thank you,” mewed Greypaw eagerly. He stepped forwards and took a large mouse from the pile of prey, then dropped it at Firepaw’s feet. “You still haven’t tasted mouse?” he asked.

“No,” the tabby admitted. He suddenly felt excited by the warm smells that were rising from the piece of fresh-kill. His whole body quivered at the thought of sharing his first real food as a Clan cat.

“In that case, you can have the first bite. Just save me some!” Greypaw dipped his head and stood back to give Firepaw room.

Firepaw crouched down and took a large bite from the mouse. It was juicy and tender, and sang with the flavours of the forest.

“What do you think?” the bright-eyed apprentice asked.

“Fantastic!” mumbled Firepaw, his mouth still full.

“Move over, then,” mewed Greypaw, stepping forwards and bending his head to take a bite.

As the two apprentices shared the mouse, they listened to the elders talk amongst themselves.   
“How long before Bluestar appoints a new deputy?” asked Smallear.

“What did you say, Smallear?” mewed White-eye.

“I think your hearing has become as poor as your eyesight!” snapped the grey tom. “I said, how long before Bluestar appoints a new deputy?”

White-eye ignored Smallear’s irritated reply and spoke instead to the tortoiseshell-and-white she-cat. “Dappletail, do you remember the day when Bluestar herself was appointed deputy?”

Dappletail mewed earnestly, “Oh, yes! It was not long after she lost her kits.”

“She’ll not be happy to be appointing a new deputy,” Smallear put in. “Redtail served her long and well. But she’ll need to make up her mind quickly. She only has until moonhigh after the deputy’s death to name a new one.”   
“At least this time the choice is obvious,” meowed Sparrowpelt.

Firepaw raised his head and looked around the clearing. Who could Sparrowpelt mean? To Firepaw, all the warriors looked worthy of becoming deputy. Perhaps he meant Tigerclaw; after all, he had avenged Redtail’s death.

The great tabby tom sat not far off, his ears angled towards the elders’ conversation.

As Firepaw stretched his tongue to lick the last traces of mouse from his whiskers, Bluestar’s voice called from the Highrock. “A new deputy must be appointed,” the pale-furred she-cat meowed. “But first, let us give thanks to StarClan for the life of Redtail. Tonight he sits with his fellow warriors among the stars.”

Silence fell as the cats looked up into the sky, which was beginning to darken as evening crept over the forest.

“And now I shall name ThunderClan’s new deputy,” Bluestar continued. “I say these words before the body of Redtail and StarClan, so that they may hear and approve my choice.”

Firepaw looked at Tigerclaw. He couldn’t help noticing the hunger in the warrior’s amber gaze as he stared up at the Highrock.

“Lionheart will be the new deputy of ThunderClan.”

Firepaw was curious to see Tigerclaw’s reaction, but the dark tabby’s face revealed nothing as he moved to congratulate the new deputy with a nudge so hearty it almost knocked the golden tabby off his paws.

“Why didn’t she make Tigerclaw deputy?” Firepaw whispered to Greypaw.

“Probably because Lionheart has been a warrior longer, so he has a lot more experience,” Greypaw whispered back, still looking up at Bluestar.

Bluestar spoke again. “Redtail was also mentor to young Dustpaw. Since there must be no delay in the training of our apprentices, I shall appoint Dustpaw’s new mentor immediately. Darkstripe, you are ready for your first apprentice, so you will continue Dustpaw’s training. You had a fine mentor in Tigerclaw, and I expect you to pass on the excellent skills you were taught.”

The dark grey tabby swelled with pride as he showed his acceptance with a solemn nod. He strode over to Dustpaw, bent his head, and, rather awkwardly, touched noses with his new apprentice. The amber-eyed tabby flicked his tail respectfully, but his eyes were still dull with grief for his lost mentor.

Bluestar raised her voice. “I shall keep vigil with Redtail’s body tonight, before we bury him at sunrise.” She jumped down from the Highrock and walked over to lie beside Redtail’s body once more. Many of the other cats joined her, Dustpaw, Smallear, and the cat he believed was Sandpaw among them.

“Should we sit with them too?” Firepaw suggested. He had to admit the idea didn’t appeal to him much. It had been a busy day and he was beginning to feel tired. All he wanted to do was find somewhere warm and dry to curl up and sleep.

Greypaw shook his head. “No, only those who were closest to Redtail will sit vigil for him tonight. I’ll show you where we sleep. The apprentices’ den is over here.”

Firepaw followed Greypaw to a thick bush of ferns that lay behind a mossy tree stump.

“All the apprentices share their fresh-kill by this stump,” Greypaw told him.

“How many apprentices are there?” Firepaw asked.

“Not many - just me, you, Ravenpaw, Dustpaw, and Sandpaw.”

As Greypaw and Firepaw settled themselves beside the tree stump, a young she-cat crawled out from beneath the ferns. Her coat was ginger, like Firepaw’s, but much paler, with barely visible stripes of darker fur.

“So here comes the new apprentice!” she meowed, narrowing her eyes. Firepaw noticed that her eyes were puffy and red, most likely from tears.

“Hello,” Firepaw mewed.

The sleek she-cat sniffed rudely. “He smells like a kittypet! Don’t tell me I’m going to have to share my nest with that revolting stench!”

Firepaw felt rather taken aback. Since his fight with Longtail, all the cats had been quite friendly. Maybe they had just been distracted by Ravenpaw’s news, he thought.

“You’ll have to excuse Sandpaw,” apologized Greypaw. “I think she must have a furball stuck somewhere. She’s not usually this bad-tempered.”

“Psst!” spat Sandpaw crossly.

“Sandpaw!” The deep voice of Whitestorm sounded behind the apprentices. “As my apprentice, I expected you to be a little more welcoming to this newcomer.”

The pale-furred she-cat held up her head and looked defiant. “I’m sorry, Whitestorm,” she purred, not sounding sorry at all. “I just didn’t expect to be training with a  _ kittypet _ , that’s all!”

“I’m sure you’ll get used to it, Sandpaw,” meowed Whitestorm calmly. “Now, it’s getting late, and training starts early tomorrow. You three should get some sleep.”

“Not tonight, I’m sitting vigil,” Sandpaw informed him, and he gave her a stern look. As he walked off, she darted past Greypaw and Firepaw, sniffing once more as she brushed past the two.

With a flick of his tail, Greypaw invited Firepaw to follow him, and led the way into the den. Inside the sleeping area, the ground was lined with soft moss, and the pale moonlight turned everything a delicate shade of green. The air was fragrant with fern scent, and warmer than outside.

“Where do I sleep?” Firepaw asked.

“Anywhere you want,” Greypaw said, prodding some moss with his paw.

Firepaw raked together a pile of moss with his claws. When he had gathered enough to make a cozy nest, he circled until it was comfortable and settled down. His whole body felt drowsy with contentment. This was his home now. He was an apprentice of ThunderClan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took so long! I'll try to update on a more regular basis from now on, as I've finally decided what I actually wanted to do with this fic.  
> Also, because nobody in this fandom thinks renaming elders after their injuries is a good idea, I've decided to eradicate it from the series altogether, thus White-eye = One-eye and Sparrowpelt = Halftail.


	6. Annoucement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOT A REAL CHAPTER  
> PLEASE READ

I know you guys are really enjoying this story, but it's really difficult to write. I can't churn out chapters on a weekly basis like I could with other fics because it just takes so long. I have to double- and triple-check all my information against the Wiki and the other books, and everything I change I have to take into account in every other chapter.

It's for this reason that I'm going to leave this story for now. I'm going to leave it up and probably come back to it again in the summer, when I have a lot more time, but I want to work on other projects for now, like my YouTubers space AU and my giant Warriors fanfiction. I hope you guys understand my decision, and I'm very grateful for all your support. I wish I could keep going with this right now.

Please accept my apologies, everyone that is waiting for the next chapter. I'll see you in the summer.


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